Monsters In My Closet
by My-Crazy-Awesome-Sox
Summary: A look into Olivia's childhood. How she forgot. How she remembered some things but not others. And how it shaped her into the woman we know.
1. The Gun

**A/N:** So this came to me after reading a very in depth (very bad) review of the Fringe "tie in" novels on tumblr. Now this story doesn't have anything to do with the horrid no-way-in-any-universe-can-this-shit-be-canon books. But it addresses some things the review wished the book about Olivia's childhood actually addressed. I'd love to hear what you think!

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_POP! POP!_

All she could process was her harsh breathing. Her mind racing so fast she could feel her thoughts slipping off the tips of her fingers. Her fingers were heavy. She looks at her hands and realizes she's still holding the gun. _Still? When did she pick it up?_ Her arms were still raised, aiming the gun at the empty doorway, the red door swung wide. _Had someone been there? _The blood rushed in her ears making her feel like they were stuffed with cotton. She'd thought the shots would be louder. _Had she really given it any thought at all?_ Slowly sounds started filtering back in. There were sirens in the distance. Banging and muffled, crying screams from upstairs. _Rachel. _Labored breathing from behind her.

"Oh God..." A breath. "Olive…?" The voice was tentative. She couldn't tell if it was the first time it had spoken. There was a sliding sound. The click of a ring on drywall. A rustling. Bare feet on carpet. "Olive, honey…" The voice was slow. _Mom. Did she have a cold?_ "Olive, please put the...put the gun down, sweetie. It's over, baby it's all over." Gentle hands on her shoulder, sliding down her raised arms, cupping her trembling hands. Sad blue eyes met terrified green. "It's ok, babygirl, it's ok."

Olivia felt the gun being tugged gently from her hands. Her iron grip slackened quickly with her brain's willingness to take another's guidance. It could barely process that her hands were her own. She looked at her mother crouching next to her. Her nose looked different and there was blood on her face. Olivia's hand rose slowly, as if she were pulling it through molasses, her small fingers touching the red liquid dripping down her mother's pale skin. _Why was it there?_

There was a commotion outside. Lights and sirens and people shouting. "Marilyn? Are you alright?" Olivia looked quickly to the new voice and everything started moving normal speed again. She recognized the man. He'd been friends with her father. He gave her and Rachel lollipops sometimes. "God, Jesus… What happened?"

Marilyn swallowed and grimaced. "Carlos… It...It was Steven, he…" She shied away from his scrutiny, ashamed. She looked at him, pleading. "She was only protecting me, Carlos. He'd left, but he came back and she was just trying to keep him from hurting us anymore."

Carlos said something in Spanish under his breath. Olivia was pretty sure he was cursing. He looked over his shoulder at his partner. "Hey Tony, when they're done with...out there, see if you can get a medic over here would you? The lady needs to be fixed up."

Marilyn grabbed the shoulder of his uniform, a bit desperate. "Carlos…"

He looked her in the eye. "It's alright, I'm going to take care of you. You don't have to worry." He glanced around and then back at her. "Where's Rachel?"

"Upstairs." It was only then she realized Rachel's screams had died down. Carlos's eyes shot to Olivia, not expecting her to be the one to speak. She hadn't even twitched since he'd gotten there. Olivia raised her eyes to met his. He couldn't help but think they looked far too old to belong to a nine year old.

A man with a presses shirt and pants and a maroon medic patch on his arm came in the door, stepping carefully as to not disturb the crime scene any more than necessary. Carlos tried to smile at her, but his eyes were still concerned. "Alright, little chica, you and your mom get checked out. I'll go bring Rachel down." She watches him go, a small anxiety niggling in her gut for Rachel's safety with this man even though he'd done nothing to deserve it. The shouting outside continued and Olivia saw the end of the gurney being pushed into the back of the ambulance before the doors slammed shut and it sped off, sirens blaring once again.

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**A/N:** This will have at least 3 more chapters I think. They will all be short and hopefully I will update them without too much time in between. I am comfortable labeling this as headcanon in story form. This is really what I think happened.


	2. Interegation

**A/N:** The good thing about really short chapters is I might actually be able to update frequently. They are really just snapshots in her life I suppose, but I think they will build up to be something pretty good. Updated 7/4/14. Added some stuff that wouldn't fit with the gist of the next chapter.

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She sat in the interrogation room with her back slumped and her hands in her lap. The military wasn't used to dealing with kids, but at least they'd made an effort by providing paper and crayons. They held no interest for the young girl today though. She just wished she could go home with her mom and Rachel and act like this never happened. Finally, the door opened and a young woman walked in, shutting the door gently behind her. She smiled at Olivia and came to sit next to her.

"Hello, Olivia. My name is Dayna Price. I'm a psychologist, do you know what that is?" Olivia watched her with steady eyes, trying to figure out if she could trust her. After a couple of moments she nodded slowly, but her expression didn't change. "Alright then," Miss. Price's voice was light and sweet, but Olivia couldn't help think something in it was fake. "I see you haven't touched the crayons. Should we draw something?"

Olivia continued to watch her, but Dayna Price didn't seem to be swayed. Finally Olivia spoke. "You want to know why I fired the gun." Immaculately plucked auburn eyebrows rose, the almost fake smile didn't slip.

"Do you want to tell me why you shot your stepfather?" She asked in a sugary voice.

Olivia looked away after a moment. "I don't remember."

"You don't remember why?"

"I don't remember shooting him." Olivia corrected. She added a shrug. "Or why."

Ms. Price sighed gently. "That's alright Olivia. What's the last thing you _do_ remember?"

Olivia thought. What _was _the last thing she remembered? Everything was moving normal speed now, but it was like her brain couldn't unlock most of her memories. She shook her head. "I don't know." She thought harder. "I…I remember white tulips," she said slowly, "There's a field of them on the edge of the neighborhood. I like it there. It's pretty."

Ms. Price nodded encouragingly. "Do you go there a lot?"

Olivia studied her hands, now free of the stain of her mother's blood. She shrugged.

"What are you feeling right now, Olivia?" Another shrug. "Do you feel scared or angry or sad?"

Green eyes rose. "I feel like I'm asleep and dreaming and I want to wake up." She paused and held the older woman's gaze. "But I can't. Because this is real life."

"It's a type of retrograde amnesia. It happens sometimes, when the victim's brain can't process a trauma. It's like an off switch is hit for painful and/traumatic memories so the brain can take them in a little at a time. Hers is a bit more severe than usual. It's not just the event she can't remember, but quite a bit farther back."

"And what does that _mean_ Dr. Price?" The military prosecutor pushed impatiently.

Dr. Price glared a bit. "It means that girl has most likely gone through consistent trauma for years and this shooting was the last straw. Her brain is trying to protect her."

"Will she regain those memories?" The MP asked gruffly.

Dr. Price shrugged. "I can't say. Children are resilient, but there is no guarantee that she will remember and there is no possible way for me to say when she may remember."

"So there's no point in holding the proceedings." Which seemed to be what he wanted to hear.

The psychologist sighed. _Simpleminded lug._ "No, I suppose not." The man gave a curt nod and walked away.

The other three adults in the room watched him go with some disapproval . A woman with short blond hair turned to a balding gentleman. "So, John, what do you say we settle this here and now?"

The man raised an eyebrow at her. "You want to plead her out already? Don't let me get in your way of doing my job for me, Sarah."

Sarah scoffed. "Hardly. I was talking about you dropping the charges."

"Her prints are on the gun and the mother practically told the responding officer that their girl had done it. Please show me where I don't have a case Ms. Alster." He smiled smugly.

"For God's sake, John, she was _abused_. I'm not saying she didn't pull the trigger, I'm saying it was in self-defense. The judge won't blink twice about it when they hear the mother's testimony." There was a reason she hated this man.

"The hospital tells me the man isn't likely to survive the next couple of days and when he's dead it'll be murder II. She should be locked up as long as the state will allow if this is how she reacts to problems when she's _nine_."

"And if the man dies it will _still_ be reasonably justifiable. She was afraid for her mother's life – I'm sure you've seen the pictures of the woman's injuries by now. You should be asking yourself what made this girl feel like she had no other choice rather than what she might or mightn't do if a boy dumps her ten years from now." Her temper was getting the best of her so she took a deep breath. "I don't even know why I'm arguing. What's it to me if you damage your closure rate by prosecuting a child for defending her and her mother's lives?"

"If you two are done," the child advocate interrupted, "may I take Miss. Dunham out to her mother, or do you want to traumatize her more by keeping her locked in an interrogation room by herself a little longer?" Ms. Alster had the decency to look chastised while prosecutor John Kinnon merely looked put upon. The child advocate snorted in derision and marched into the interrogation room to save the little blond girl.

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**A/N: **Next up - the trial. Both civilian and I say or hint at something you know to be incorrect about US military judicial system please let me know. I don't know anyone in the military I can ask so everything I know comes from semi-indistinct online research.


	3. Disciplinary Action

**A/N:** So another chapter. And it's longer than 1,000 words! I hope I didn't muck up too badly on military procedure. If you know something I wrote is so completely wrong that it's egregious, please let me know. A written work can always use more editing. Also: An **MPO** is a Military Protection Order. It's like a restraining order that the military can issue against those under their command. If you would like to know any of my sources just shoot me a message. Happy reading!

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The sharp wrap on the door of his small office actually made him sigh with relief. Finally he would have something besides this goddamn never ending paperwork to think about. "Enter."

The door opened swiftly and the immaculate MP stepped in, hat off, turned and saluted. Maybe this wasn't the type of distraction he was hoping for after all. "Captain McCormack, Sir, Sargent Stanford, MP."

"At ease, Sergeant. What can I do for you?"

The middle-aged man took the two more steps to stand in front of McCormack's desk. "A man under your command, a Corporal Steven Bradford, is under guard in intensive care after having been shot twice by his stepdaughter. The mother is claiming self-defense, Sir."

McCormack's eyes widened. This was most definitely not the type of distraction he was looking for. He'd had to deal with disciplinary actions before, he was a commanding officer after all, but he'd never had to deal with anything like this. "What is Bradford's condition?"

The expression on the longtime military man's face didn't change. "Touch and go, Sir. They say if he lasts the first couple of days he'll probably make close to a full recovery. That seems to be a very large _if_ however."

"Have the civilian authorities been notified about the girl?"

A curt nod. "She is being arraigned in family court."

"I assume you have the report for me, Sergeant?" He lifted his hand to receive the file and flipped it open, his eyes scanning fast. "Nine years old? Jesus Christ. Wait… Dunham… Olivia Dunham as in the daughter of Lieutenant Colonel Dunham?" He lifted his gaze in question to the MP.

The man looked mildly annoyed at being expected to know the answer. "I don't know, Sir. It only happened last night. In-depth information is still being compiled."

McCormack sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Alright, thank you Sergeant Stanford. I'd like to keep apprised of Corporal Bradford's condition. And interview the girl and her mother as soon as they feel up to it."

"Mrs. Bradford, am I correct that you are the widow of Lieutenant Colonel Alex Dunham?" McCormack asked, already fairly certain he knew the answer.

"Yes, that's correct." It was difficult for her to sit still, or to look him in the eye as she sat across his desk from him.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "I served under your late husband. He was a good man. I want to promise you that I will do whatever I can to make sure your family is safe." He meets her eyes sincerely.

She noticeably relaxed and sat a little straighter. "Thank you Captain McCormack."

"I'd like you to tell me about the alleged abuse. Try not to leave anything out."

Marilyn took a deep breath and began. "If I'd known he would be like that, I wouldn't have married him. I wouldn't have let him around my girls. It didn't really start until about six months after we were married. At first it was just yelling: about work, about the girls, about me. Then it was yelling at me and the girls. Then he started drinking more and more and… and he slapped me. I don't know, I guess I just thought I deserved it or it would just be that once or it was only when he was drunk or it really wasn't that bad. But it wasn't just that one time and it didn't end with slapping. It's like when I didn't fight back, it snapped something in him and gave him permission or… Anyway, he kept the bruises where I could hide them mostly."

"You know I want to take you at your word, Mrs. Bradford, but if I'm going to take punitive action I'm going to need a bit more…"

"He got worse as time went on. Cracked a few ribs. Sprained my wrist pretty badly about two years ago. You can check the infirmary records and at Memorial Hospital. And I'm sure you can take my current condition into consideration." She gestured to her bandaged nose, bruised face, and splinted finger.

McCormack nodded. "Did he ever hit your daughters?"

Marilyn's breath shuddered and her voice cracked as she answered. "Olivia had just turned six when he first hit her. I never thought he'd touch her. I wouldn't have left her with him if I thought he'd touch her. I tried to fight back after that. I didn't want to allow him to do that to them. But he got worse. He told me that he owned me in every way he could. He controlled the finances, he put food in our mouths and the roof of military housing over our heads. If I left I wouldn't have anywhere to go. I wouldn't have insurance, or means to get an apartment on my own. I've never been close enough to my late husband's family to ask for that kind of help…" She twisted her hands in her lap. "Olivia started locking Rachel in their room, or in whatever closet was closest." She looked toward the ceiling, trying not to cry. "My little girl protected her baby sister better than I could."

"And the shooting?"

She blushed a little and swallowed. "He was passed over for promotion again." McCormack winced slightly at the implication that he may have been able to prevent this. "He was drinking before he even got home. I didn't have dinner ready yet. He tore into another bottle of whiskey and then he tore into me. Trying to placate him never works, I don't know why I tried this time. I was scared. I'd never seen him that bad before. Olivia tried to step in, but he knocked her out of the way and then he broke my nose. After he kicked the crap out of me and finished the whiskey he left. It was his last bottle. I'm sure you understand why they call alcoholism a disease. He needed more. Olivia, she went upstairs to get the gun he kept in his bedside table, I didn't even know she'd gone until she came back down the stairs with it. Anyway, I'd be surprised if Steven made it out of the development before he realized he'd forgotten his wallet. I was still in shock, I hadn't even gotten up off the floor when we heard his pickup turning back into the driveway. He didn't even have the chance to step into the house. She fired twice. It looked like she might have shot again...I'm glad she didn't. I can't say I'd wouldn't be relieved if he was dead, but I don't want my baby living with that."

"Thank you Mrs. Bradford - "

Marilyn sat up a little straighter and breathed deep. "And I'd appreciate it if you called me Ms. Dunham. I won't be associated with Steven anymore."

McCormack looked at her steadily for a moment. "Ms. Dunham then. I'd like to speak with your daughter if you don't mind."

The girl's eyes were nearly haunting, but they were Colonel Dunham's through and through. "What can you tell me about Wednesday evening Olivia?"

She continued to stare at him. It felt like she was trying to see all of his secrets. He was almost ready to ask again when she finally answered. "I wish people would stop asking me that." Her voice was low. "I don't remember Wednesday. I don't remember much of anything!"

McCormack let her vent without comment. "Do you remember Steven Bradford?"

She huffed. "Yes I know him. I know my mom married him, I know he lives with us, but I don't remember him hitting us _or_ being nice to us." Her eyes flashed in annoyance as she folded her arms around herself.

"Do you get angry easily, Olivia?" He was careful not to be accusatory.

Her eyes didn't leave his, but the lost some of their fire. Her eyes cut away from him and she shrugged helplessly. "I don't know…"

"You had a birthday a couple of months ago, right? What flavor was the cake?"

Her voice hitched. "I don't know…"

McCormack nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. "Alright, Olivia. Thank you."

Marilyn took the chair across his desk and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm sure it's been explained to you that any disciplinary action is at my discretion." Marilyn nodded. "After speaking to you and your daughters, several of the men in my company, and reviewing the medical records, I am inclined to believe your allegations. As this is the first report of abuse, severe as it may be, I will compel him to comply with the Family Advocacy Program's treatment recommendations. I will also issue you an MPO. If he comes within 200 yards of you or your daughters, you can call any MP's office and he will be taken in. You will get financial assistance should you legally separate yourself from Corporal Bradford." McCormack watched the woman in front of him both sag disappointment that nothing more could be done, while her eyes said she was relieved her family would be helped as much as they were.

Finally Marilyn nodded. "I'd like you to do one more thing for me Captain." He gave her a questioning nod. "Should he be transferred or moved from this base for any reason, I would like to be informed."

McCormack grimaced slightly. That could be tricky. "I will do so to the best of my ability, Ms. Dunham."

She didn't look entirely happy, but she'd been a military wife for nearly the last fifteen years. She knew arguing would get her nowhere. Marilyn stood to leave and nodded her thanks to Captain McCormack. Before she left the office she spoke without looking at him. "The state's putting my girl through a trial." She must not have meant for him to answer because she left before he could comment. That poor family...

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**A/N:** Ok, next chapter will be the civilian trial. Hopefully I don't muck that up too badly either.


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